


The Confession

by 743ish



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Children of the Watch, Darksaber, Doubt, Empathy, Gen, Grief, Love, Post-Season 2, Religious Dogma, Religious Guilt, spoilers for episode 16: the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/743ish/pseuds/743ish
Summary: She does not even remember her own eyes, but she knows what grief looks like, and it lies on Din Djarin's face as plainly as though she were feeling it herself.
Relationships: The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin
Comments: 63
Kudos: 345





	The Confession

The man is bare-faced, and for that reason alone he should be struck dead before his boots touch the floor of the armory.

She almost does it; gets as far as dropping to a crouch and wrapping her fingers around the hammer, but in the heartbeat before the strike she sees that the man is wearing beskar, and in the heartbeat that follows she recognizes the armor. And though an uncovered face is a grave insult, she will bear it for the sake of that which she forged. She has thought of this armor often, and of its owner, and of his quest, and she will hear their story from this man, whoever he turns out to be. She can always kill him after he has spoken.

The man seems to understand that he does not belong here. He descends the steps and stops, hesitant, in the vestibule. He does not notice the Armorer, hidden as she is by the new-built forge. In his hands he carries the helmet that goes with the armor. This is puzzling; the Armorer narrows her eyes and stands. When she calls out, her voice echoes sharply off the stone walls:

"Those who do not cover their face are not welcome here." 

He turns and sees her. His face—the mere fact of it, exposed in this sacred place—is shocking to her. After a moment, he casts his eyes down. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't want to offend. I have—an offering."

She knows his voice. "You are Din Djarin." She lets him hear her surprise.

"Yes." His stance is earnest, respectful, holding himself tall, but still tentative. Not like the warrior she knows him to be. He cradles the helmet carefully in both hands, and does not look up to her. 

She wonders how he found her. Not many know of the new forge, and even fewer know its location. He was always resourceful, this one. She comes around the hearth of the forge to stand closer to him, holding the hammer across her body. He does not move, does not track her with his eyes. She has decided not to hurt him, but he does not know it, and yet he leaves himself vulnerable. It is curious. She reads shame in the slight bow of his head and fears the worst.

"Where is the other of your Clan?" She asks it as gently as she can, but he still blinks and swallows before answering.

"He is with a Jedi master. He was taken to a temple."

"So you have completed your quest."

"Yes."

"But you have strayed from the Creed of the Tribe." 

A pause.

"Yes."

It is always dark in this place, but the flames provide enough light to see him. The Armorer is unpractised at bearing witness to emotion on a human face. She has lived a long time with the Tribe, and when she had occasion to leave the covert and walk in the cities, she did not have occasion to speak to anyone, or look them in the face before she killed them. And she has spent little time with the foundlings, whose unguarded eyes always made her wary; she only feels safe among those who have taken the Creed. She does not even remember her own eyes. But she knows what grief looks like, and it lies on Din Djarin's face as plainly as though she were feeling it herself. 

"You may enter."

He comes into the room to stand by the forge, and she moves closer until she can look right down on him from the hearth. Close enough almost to touch. She tilts her head to look at him closely, and he does not bear the scrutiny well, shifting his feet and breathing shallowly. He is as unused to being seen as she is to seeing.

"Why did you remove your helmet?"

"It was—necessary."

"Necessary for the completion of the quest?"

"Yes."

"You know we are permitted to uncover our faces if it is required to protect the life of another. Did you remove your helmet to save the Child?"

He falters now. "The—the first time, yes."

She is caught off-guard by her own disappointment. There are so very few left of the Tribe, and she had hoped he might be salvageable. "But not the second time."

"No."

"To whom did you reveal your face?"

He closes his eyes briefly. "The Child," he says hoarsely. "And the Jedi who took him."

The Armorer notes the phrasing—he might as well have said _stole him_. The grief is not only for his faith, then.

"It is good that the Child is with his own kind," she reminds him. "They will train him. They will keep him safe."

She offers this as solace, but sees that it brings him none. He nods, but the tension twists deeper around his eyes. A foundling, he was. A hunter he still is. He knows very well that in these times, _safe_ is the most you can hope for. And yet.

She moves even closer. It is as though he is kneeling before her. His suffering is palpable; even if he were not bare-faced she would feel it. She wonders at how strongly she wants to ease it for him.

"It is strange, is it not," she murmurs, "that the galaxy should have _two_ warrior creeds who lie to their children and teach them they must not know love?"

His gaze snaps to her, affronted, and unguarded in his protest. "This is the _Way_." 

The Armorer declines to repeat the phrase. She shifts the hammer to her other hand and hums, regarding him carefully. She has an urge to touch his cheek—forbidden. A crime. She attempts to dispel it by making her voice harder.

"Strange, too, that you cling to the way of the Mandalore, even after you have cast aside his most sacred law."

In truth, it is not so strange. The Armorer has lived a long time with her Tribe, and has seen many struggle with the tenets of the Creed. She has always guided the wayward, but even she herself has had cause to question, since fleeing Navarro. It has tested her, to be forced to seek shelter on this dull moon, in full view of the ancestral homeland that is lost to her. She hides among bare-faced heathens who dare to call themselves Mandalorian. It has not been easy. She has learned that one whose faith has been shaken the most may fight the hardest to defend the Creed.

"My failure was my own," the man rasps. "It was not because the Way is a lie."

Had he been helmeted, the Armorer might have pushed her point. The lie is not that love is forbidden, she knows. The lie is that it can be resisted, once it is known. But she does not wish to toy with him, so she leaves out the retort. 

Neither does she wish to be toyed with, however, and the fact is that his expression is disarming her. She has little defense against such stark evidence of his pain. 

It is unacceptable. She does not permit herself to be disarmed.

"Why have you come here?" she snaps.

"To return the armor. It belongs with the Tribe. And...for guidance."

"You ask for _guidance_ with your face exposed to me?"

He flinches at that, and his distress makes her regret her words. It makes her gentle her tone, against her will: unacceptable. 

"The teachings of the Mandalore do not waste time with penitence," she tells him. She wishes she could not see his eyes. If he were helmeted she would have no qualms about striking him down for his insolence. But if he were helmeted, she would not need to. "I cannot guide one who has chosen to abandon the path. I am sorry. You may not return here."

He drops his gaze again, finally—mercifully—and nods. 

"I understand." She thinks she has dismissed him, but he does not move. "There is—something else."

"Speak, then."

He does not do this either. Instead, he kneels to place the helmet on the hearth by her feet, then reaches behind him to retrieve something from the back of his belt—

—a weapon—

—the Armorer crouches and readies her hammer, but the man stays on his knees and does not tense for a fight. He holds the hilt of the saber, for that is surely what it is, in front of him, and when he extends the dark blade the Armorer draws a breath and takes an involuntary step away.

She stares at it for a long moment. The weapon glows in strange kinship with her forge’s flames. 

"You know what this is?" she asks.

"Yes."

"I have often wondered if it were just a myth." She turns her attention back to the man. "You won it fairly? In battle?"

"Yes. I did not understand. I was protecting the Child."

“This is a heavy responsibility," she says. "It may prove to be a great misfortune. What will you do?”

He retracts the blade, and, shockingly, holds the hilt up to her. “Would you take it?”

“I?” A laugh escapes her. “Even if I wanted it, I could gain no power by taking it when you offer. This weapon must be won.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone," he says. He is begging. "I would swear you beat me. Or you can fight me now--” He climbs to his feet. “I’ll let you win!”

She laughs again, this time long and loud, until he is cowed by the mocking that echoes in the walls. 

“The darksaber holds no draw for me. I do not desire to insert myself into the politics of a people who care nothing for the Way of the Mandalore.”

“If you rule,” he says, “you could help your people—”

“You could help _your_ people, Din Djarin.”

He stops. His uncovered face still unsettles her, and she feels that he is trying to see her eyes through the helmet when he spreads his arms wide and shouts, “I’m cast out, aren’t I? _I have no people!_ ”

¤

She allows him to keep the beskar. He does not seem to trust her assurances that it was made for him and he can choose what to do with it, but he does not argue. It is not strictly within the Creed, but she knows he will need it, given what he carries.

“Thank you,” he says.

“This is the Way.”

He inclines his head, shoulders sagging, and turns to go. When he reaches the vestibule she calls to him on impulse:

"What was the reason?"

He stops and looks back at her.

“Why did you reveal your face?”

The man huffs out a breath. The signet of the mudhorn glints on his pauldron.

"To say goodbye," he says.

His voice shakes. She turns her face away to afford him a measure of privacy. 

In her years with the Tribe she has formed many bonds with her clanmates, and she has felt the pull to reveal herself, as they all do at one time or other. This man is not the first to abandon the security of the Creed so that he may be known by another. They are taught that to do so is weakness; she is beginning to suspect that it may also be great strength.

"Do you see now?” she says softly. “Why it is forbidden?"

"Yes."

"Would you do it again?"

He answers immediately. "Yes."

The Armorer does not know what to do with the pang of envy that shoots through her. She smiles despite herself, a reflex she has never lost even after years behind the helmet. “It is a gift, your bond with the Child. You are fortunate.”

He stares at her. 

“You will find your own Way, Din Djarin.”

**Author's Note:**

> The handshake meme but it's the Jedi and the Children of the Watch and the hands are labelled "Fucking Up Our Kids in Big Ways Dude"


End file.
